The Valley of the Shadow of Death
by Spaztic Arwen
Summary: Frankenstein's creation asks himself the question that has been plaguing him since his creation. Is he a monster?


A/N- in the book, after the windmill blows up, Frankenstein (the creation) buries the creator and returns to the castle to try and discover how he was created and to learn the events surrounding it. The book doesn't give much detail besides that. This takes place during the time when he was in the laboratory, learning about his creation.

Disclaimer- I am not Stephen Summers do you hear me!!! I OWN NOTHING!!!

I stand here in this laboratory, the place where I was given life, the place were my father lost his, searching for a clue to the question that has plagued me since my creation. Am I a monster? His books, his notes, they all speak of my creation, how I was formed, given life. I see through his works that my father was indeed a great man, who's greatness had been twisted by the Other Man. I am the product of that twisting, of the lies told by the count. He pushed my father to create me faster, cruder. I believe that he would have created me eventually, had Dracula not pushed him, but would I have been different if he had not? If my creator had had more time to put into my creation, would my body have been sown together with more care, would the parts that created me be less gruesome? Had the count's hand not been on the Work, would I bee less of a monster?

Am I a monster? The villagers burned the windmill because I was in it, not because of my father. The first thing I knew in this life was their fear and hate. No, that is not true. The first thing I knew was my father's love, for however brief a time. His love, then their hate, who was right? The only man who could answer this is buried in a deep grave, the best I could do for him.

The burns still hurt, as do the cuts and the burses and the scars. I do not believe that they all will heal. Yet the deepest cut does not pain me as much as the question. Am I a monster?

My creator's records and books have yielded nothing. I know how the Work was inspired, how the Work was formed, how the Work was corrupted by the evil Count, but I do not know if his evil has corrupted me as well.

There is no record of the bond between my father and I. I suppose it is because he was killed before he could record it. It was not a planned part of the Work. I wonder if he did not know of it because he did not believe that his creation was worthy of love. I only know that the bond was there at the time of my creation.

I see another book on the table, _Human Anatomy. _I open it. Inside are drawings, diagrams of the human body. I turn to a page; on it is a hand, a perfect human hand. I look at my own hand, disfigured, discolored, cut and sewn, hideous in comparison. I turn the pages. On one, there is the picture of the face of a man, on the other side, the face of a woman. I trace the outlines of the woman's face with a gnarled finger. She is beautiful. Would a woman ever look at me as anything but a monster? Would she ever look upon my hideous form and see anything but a hideous beast? A tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek. I close the book. There is nothing but heartache in its pages.

In a corner of the library, I see another book, leather bound. I approach it and wipe the dust from its cover. _Bible_, it is called. Something I cannot explain tells me that this book is important. I pick it up and open it.

"_The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want._

_he makes me lie down in green pastures,_

_he leads me beside quiet waters,_

_he restores my soul._

_He guides me in paths of righteousness_

_for his name's sake._

_Even though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death,_

_I will fear no evil,_

_for you are with me;_

_Your rod and your staff,_

_they comfort me._

_You prepare a table before me,_

_in the presence of my enemies._

_You anoint my head with oil,_

_My cup overflows._

_Surely goodness and love will follow me_

_all of the days of my life,_

_and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."_

My hands shake. Who is the person who wrote this, and who is this Lord he speaks of?

"_And though I may walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil." _What does this mean? I must know. I take the book and wrap it in a cloth that is lying on the table, not wanting to damage it. It is... precious. I will return to study my father's notes another night. There are answers this book can yield, and I wish to find them. Maybe it will have the answer to the question that burns in my heart. Maybe it will be able to tell me whether or not I am truly a monster.

A/N- it's amazing how stories have minds of there own. When I started writing this, I had no idea that it would go off on a religious tangent, but I'm glad it did. One of mine and my friend's favorite lines in the movie was when Frankenstein was being carried into the ball room and shouted "Though I may walk in the shadow of the valley of death, I will fear no evil!" the two of us just turned to each other and were like "Dude! Frankenstein's a Christian! Sweet!" Both of us are Christians and we really appreciated the religious undertones of the book and movie. But when I began this fic, I had no idea that it would end up as an explanation for that line. Review please & boost a poor authoress' low self confidence.


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